May I Have This Dance?
by Drusilla2
Summary: Years after Buffy's death, Spike still finds it hard to cope (S/D)


TITLE: May I Have This Dance?  
  
AUTHOR: Drusilla  
  
RATING: PG  
  
PAIRING: Spike/Dawn  
  
SPOILERS: Season Five  
  
SUMMARY: Years after Buffy's death, Spike still finds it hard to cope  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and Co.  
  
DISRIBUTION: Sure, take it! Just let me know and credit me, please  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!  
  
AN: The song in this fic is We Are One, from Westlife  
  
  
  
  
MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?  
----------------------  
  
  
He wakes in strange surroundings, under unfamiliar red satin sheets and on a bed that is not  
his own. He looks beside him to see a mass of dark, black hair, a pale cheek, and blood-red  
lips that he used to know.   
  
He does not belong here.  
  
Beside him is a bookshelf of glazed mahogany, 19th century style, the shelves etched with  
dainty flowers of ages long past.  
  
Drusilla has always lived in the past.  
  
It is not the bookshelf itself, but the articles on them, that bring back stolen memories.  
  
Dolls of porcelain and bone-white ivory, each sitting primly in its own corner, staring at  
him with blank, expressionless eyes. Ghosts of the spirits he's taken, they haunt him, and  
he cannot pull away from their hypnotic gaze.  
  
Each is dressed in a lace gown of sorts, a scarlet ribbon in its hair.   
  
One hangs from the shelf by a cord like a sick puppeteer's marionette and for some reason,   
he is uneasy at the thought of such cruelty. He looks at them again and realizes that every  
one of them is gagged, their wrists bound together by a green sash.  
  
He cannot remember why he is here.  
  
He knows, however, that he must leave, and immediately. What he has done has marred all the  
good he represents, something that he cannot risk losing. He pulls away the covers and   
dresses silently, desperately, and he feels tears threatening to escape the confines of his  
ice-blue eyes.  
  
Buffy is dead.  
  
It's all he knows. He replays the images of her last minutes in his head and he is   
shudders, because it is his fault, because he failed to protect them.  
  
It was supposed to be him.  
  
He wonders what it was about her that captivated him so, that renews his tears when he   
thinks of her, even seven years after her death.   
  
He has to get out of here.  
  
He closes the door gently as he exits and walks stealthily into the night.   
  
He sits in his DeSoto for a moment before he starts it up, hearing the familiar purr of the  
engine.  
  
He does not care where he is going, only that he is going as far away from this place as  
possible. Even if it means going home to Dawn. Yes, he'd better go home. Dawn would be  
worried.  
  
There are no lights on either side of the street and it's just as well. He isn't in the  
mood for cheeriness.  
  
When he arrives at the Summers door step, he pauses. He is afraid to go in and face reality  
once more, but he is also afraid of losing himself into darkness. He peers through the  
window and notices movement inside. Dawn.  
  
He sighs, his unneeded breath freezing in jagged patterns on the glass.  
  
He walks in. "Dawn?" He calls, and she emerges from the shadows, dressed in green flannel  
pajamas, her chocolate-colored hair tumbling down her shoulders in torrents.  
  
She is his sister now, and they care for each other more than words allow.  
  
"Spike, I was so worried about you." She whispers as she pulls him close. It scares him  
how time flies, how she has grown so much. How he will forever remain the same age.  
  
She is older than Buffy was when she died.  
  
He looks at her and it hurts, because she is nothing like Buffy. She is tall and thin,   
whereas Buffy was petite and curvy. He kisses her hair and smells the aloe vera shampoo  
she uses.  
  
They have nothing of Buffy's save memories.  
  
"I'm okay, Dawn." He smiles a little.  
  
She does not ask where he's been. She has learned that some things must be left unsaid.  
  
"How come you're still up?" He asks softly. The clock mounted on the wall tells him that  
it is almost 1 a.m. in the morning.  
  
"I don't know. Waiting for you." She has loved him for years now, but he has never seen   
it, or if he did, he has always dismissed it as some girlish fantasy.  
  
He does not see the love that is real.  
  
"Dawn, you don't have to. I have keys, remember?" It hurts her that he calls her Dawn now,  
not Nibblet or pet or luv. She nods.  
  
"I don't want to go to sleep yet. Can we go somewhere? Like the Bronze?"  
  
"Sure. You might want to change." He laughs.  
  
She smiles sheepishly. "I'll be right back." She says, as she disppears up the stairs.  
  
He stands there, waiting for her, leaning on the wall.   
  
When she comes down she is dressed in a short green dress, her hair pinned up in a sweep  
of fawn.   
  
She is not only pretty, she is beautiful.  
  
He admires her with pride as she descends, taking her hand and pulling her out the door in  
a gentlemanly fashion.  
  
As they enter the club, Dawn looks back at him and grins, and she makes her way to the dance  
floor. He sits down at a table and orders a beer, and he watches her as she moves under  
the red and orange lights.  
  
The men look at her like they used to look at Buffy.  
  
She dances with a young college student, a football player, judging by the width of his  
shoulders and muscles packed into his arms.  
  
He watches them move together and a wave of anger passes through him. How dare the boy   
touch his Dawn like that? He forgets she isn't a girl anymore. She is a woman.  
  
With a shock, he realizes that his anger isn't protectiveness, it's jealousy. She looks  
back at him with longing eyes and he wonders why he hasn't noticed it before. She loves  
him, and he thinks maybe he loves her too, more than as a brother.  
  
He had been blind before, because his heart belonged to Buffy.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
She turns away, ashamed.   
  
He makes his way over to her, parting through the spirited crowd of dancers. He reaches  
her finally and taps her on the shoulder. She turns around in surprise and lets her  
college boy go.  
  
"May I have this dance?" He asks softly, and she smiles genuinely in response. They don't  
need to speak. They both know, and understand.  
  
  
//Two very different people   
Too scared to get along   
Till two hearts beat together   
Underneath one sun   
One very special moment   
Can turn a destiny   
And what some would say   
Could never change   
Has changed for you and me   
  
'Cause its all in the way you   
look through your eyes   
And when all is said and done   
All of the fear and all of the lies are   
not hard to overcome   
It's all in the way you look at it   
That makes you strong   
We were two (we were two)   
Now we are one   
  
We are two different people   
So much to overcome   
So why care for one another   
When there's so much to be done   
'Cause sometimes it's necessary   
Just look how far we've come   
You could say my friend that   
it's the end   
Or a new tale has begun   
  
'Cause its all in the way you   
look through your eyes   
And when all is said and done   
All of the fear and all of the lies are   
not hard to overcome   
It's all in the way you look at it   
That makes you strong   
We were two (we were two)   
Now we are one   
  
And one moment in the time   
Is all the time we need   
Just to make a difference   
To make it better for you and me   
If you just believe   
  
Oh yeah   
Just open your eyes   
  
'Cause its all in the way you   
look through your eyes   
And when all is said and done   
All of the fear and all of the lies are   
not hard to overcome   
It's all in the way you look at it   
That makes you strong   
We were two (we were two)   
Now we are one   
  
Oh yeah, Oh yeah   
We were two   
Now we are one.//  
  
  
He kisses her softly on this lips, and people turn to look at them quizzically. Isn't he  
her brother? The whisper goes. She doesn't care what they think. She is in her own   
heaven.  
  
"Not everything will be right again," He whispers.  
  
"This will."   
  
She knows it.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
(end)  
  
* * *  
  
  
  



End file.
